


messy

by naruhoe



Category: Bumblebee (2018), Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers (Bumblebee Movie), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bumblebee movie, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naruhoe/pseuds/naruhoe
Summary: Dropkick hates Earth. He hates the dirt that gets stuck in his gears. He hates the local wildlife that runs across the road and gets itself lodged in his tyres. But most of all, he hates the dominant species: Humans.





	messy

Dropkick hates Earth. He hates the dirt that gets stuck in his gears. He hates the local wildlife that runs across the road and gets itself lodged in his tyres. But most of all, he hates the dominant species: Humans. Strike one: They're loud. Strike two: They're fleshy. ( _Eugh_.) Strike three: They're damn messy. Explode absolutely everywhere if you so much as squeeze them, not to mention that they're constantly underfoot. 

Dropkick hates humans. So it shouldn't have been a big fragging deal if he decided to liquefy, say... twenty of them. They breed like rabbits anyways, it's not like anyone's gonna miss them. No. The problem is that the moment the first one's head goes ' _kasplash_!', Shatter shows up on the scene.

And she's not happy.

Shatter doesn't especially care about the humans. Doesn't like them. Doesn't hate them. With all their primitive technology, they pose about as much of a threat to her as does a turborat to a cybercat. But right now, her primary objective is _finding B-127_ , but on this garbage heap of a planet, it's like finding a needle in a haystack. So to do that, she needs the cooperation of the primitive indigenous lifeforms, particularly, their primitive government. So, no. Shatter is not happy.

The first thing she does is execute the rest of the bystanders. Can't have any loose lips running off to tell the authorities, can she? 

After Dropkick liquefies the evidence, Shatter points a fusion cannon at his helm and orders him to his knees. And Dropkick, if nothing else, has good survival instincts, so like a good clone, he gets on his knees and doesn't do more than growl softly when Shatter pops her panel and pressurizes her spike right up against his cheek. And what a shame it is that he doesn't have a mouth. But Shatter makes do. 

For a while, she amuses herself rutting against his face, smearing a few beads of translucent transfluid across his cheek to dry. When Dropkick reaches up to stroke her spike, though, she seizes his wrist and slaps him across the faceplates. It's a hard slap, and it seems to resound throughout the empty warehouse. "You'll follow my orders, and you'll  _take_ what I give you." Shatter hisses, her optics a harsh, cold red. Dropkick snarls, but doesn't try to wrench his wrist away. 

In a way, a twisted, savage way, it's enjoyable. Like the feeling of detonating his cannons into the back of an opponent's helm, like the burn and fizzle of energy against his plating, the overwhelming excitement and the furtive fear of battle.

Shatter doesn't bother with preparation. After she shoves Dropkick against the wall, his wrist still twisted uncomfortably behind his back, she's already tapping on his panel. Dropkick is smart enough to let it hiss open, and maybe it's wrong, but he's already slick with lubricants. Not slick enough to ease the burn of her spike as she impales him with a single thrust of her hips, forcing calipers open as the pointed head stabs uncomfortably against the roof of his channel, but it's something. Dropkick will take something over nothing.

Dropkick's chassis scrapes against the wall, leaving behind scrapes of blue on the grey stone wall. He hisses, then whines as Shatter lets go of his wrist in favor of grabbing him by the mount of his rotary blades because _damn_ , if that isn't just a whole new world of sensation. She isn't careful. Her claws dig into the sensitive metal which creaks as she pulls him back onto her thick spike, which is starting to light up the nodes of his valve, not that Shatter cares. She's proving a point. Once she's done, Dropkick knows all too well that she won't be sticking around to finish him off.

So Dropkick drops a servo to his valve, palming the malleable mesh plating before he finds his exterior node, gingerly rolling over it with his two middle digits. There's a jolt of pleasure that combined with a particularly hard thrust from Shatter causes Dropkick's exvent to stutter. He's starting to heat up, and fast. If he's lucky, he might even make it before Shatter finishes.

As his arousal builds, his valve slickens, the nodes stimulated by the relentless thrust-pull of Shatter's spike lighting up, now, and his calipers even clench around Shatter's spike. It's good. Hot. Messy. Ugh. Dropkick _hates_ messy. 

Speaking of messy, his valve is feeling slicker than normal, and Shatter has started to growl with every withdrawal of her spike, which is faster and faster now. Dropkick pulls a face as he feels a rivulet of lubricant run down the inside of his thigh, but pinches at his exterior node, rubbing it as if desperate. Maybe he is. 

He's close- he's _so close_... Just a little more, and- Shatter snarls. Dropkick can feel the rumble of her engine as she surges up against him, shoves him flat against the wall as liquid heat fills his poor, aching valve. Her claws prick at his rotary blades, at the transformation seam on his hip. Dropkick's hips buck as he furiously rubs his exterior node.

At last, the white-hot heat of his pleasure crests, tipping him over the edge just in time for his valve to ripple in overload around Shatter's spike just once before she abruptly pulls out, stepping away from her subordinate.

Dropkick, bracing his forearms against the wall to keep from toppling over as the post-overload spasms continue to wrack his valve, feels cheated. Once he feels steady enough to stand without support, he turns around. ' _Click_ '. Shatter looks dispassionately at him, her plating pristine as ever. The dirty rag she tosses at him lands on the floor by his pedes. _Plip. Plip, plip._

"I expect you back on the road in precisely a breem. Do not disappoint me." Shatter says. The sound of her pedesteps is magnified by the walls of the warehouse, but at the door, conveniently industrial sized, she pauses. Her optics cut through the gloom, twin red spots, cold and decidedly unfriendly. "And Dropkick," Her transfluid continues to drip from his valve.  _Plip. Plip._ "Clean up your mess."

**Author's Note:**

> Quick little thing I wrote after seeing Bumblebee. Love it? Hate it? Give me your thoughts and your kudos (;


End file.
